Verse of the Black Pearl
by rottingweiler
Summary: Modern AU. Bands from across the world compete for the Cortez Cup. Agony, enthralment, and dramatic irony ensue. The most legendary band in the scene? The infamous Black Pearl, of course.
1. Holy Smokes!

_The warm and humid area of Port Royal is home to a rather shadowy subculture. A wide range of talented bands, well known to the citizens (and the police force), compete annually for the Cortez Cup, in a massive contest known as the Cortez Week on Isle De Mureta. Dozens of bands enter. Only one leaves with the glory that a giant golden trophy can bring to a person._

_The bands come from all over. Great Britain, America, Canada, the Middle East, Australia. The world is a musical oyster. Port Royal must house all of these bands, so the economy is always steady. Commercialism is a popular business._

_One family in particular has benefitted immensely from Cortez Week: the Swann family, famously known for their posh Victorian hotel chain; Swann Hotels._

_Following the tragic death of his wife, Weatherby Swann, the head and founder of the Swann Hotel Company, had since been extremely protective of his young daughter, Elizabeth. Though as she grew into her teenage years, she became more and more drawn into the world of music._

_This is where our story begins._

* * *

"Elizabeth, are you up yet?" Came the cheerful voice of her father.

Elizabeth groaned, rolling over in her soft feather quilts. She had been having the most wonderful dream.

"No, Dad." She called, her voice muffled by a pillow.

"May I come in?"

Elizabeth sighed wearily. "I guess."

The door opened, and Weatherby Swann walked in, beaming, and holding a steaming mug filled with what was probably a deluxe cappuccino.

"It's a big day today!" He said, setting down the hot drink onto his daughters bedside table, and yanked open the blinds to beautiful, tropical, midday sunlight. Elizabeth scowled and shielded her burning eyes. She had a wicked hangover. Her father didn't know, however.

"What's happening? I was planning to sleep all day." Elizabeth grumped.

"You really forgot?" Her father said, politely astonished. "Goodness, Elizabeth, I thought you youngsters could record all upcoming events in those phones; those _e-Whatsits_."

"I want to sleep," Elizabeth said.

"Well, you can't." He put it matter-of-factly. "Besides," he added, "I have a gift for you."

Elizabeth peeked out from behind her pillow. "What is it?"

Her father only smiled, and, as if on cue, a maid walked in with a small parcel. Elizabeth timidly sat up, adjusted her flowing white nightgown, and took the present out of the hands of the timely maid, Estrella. She opened it and gasped.

"The new Black Pearl album!" She squealed, jumping up to give her father a hug, the album clutched lovingly in her hand.

"What's the occasion?" She asked, examining the totally rad cover art.

"I was rather hoping we could play it at James's party tonight. He just received a promotion at the station," Mr. Swann added with a wink.

"James Norrington? From the police station?" Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "So that would make him ... "

" ... Commissioner," he finished for her. "Yes, James Norrington. His co-workers are throwing a little shindig for him tonight. He invited us."

"I didn't know James liked ... _This_ kind of music." She waved the Black Pearl album in the air.

"Well, I thought we could switch it up a bit, as the youngsters say. It's going to be a relatively large party. I told you this last weekend!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Dad, I can't remember everything that's going on in your social life."

"Don't give me that attitude, young lady." He scolded, ushering poor Estrella out of the room. "And it's your social life as well. And, I expect you to dress properly tonight; none of your outrageous punk outfits. This is a formal gathering." And with that, he left his daughter to herself, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Elizabeth sighed with lament.

"First he buys me the new album from Black Pearl, which is, like, the biggest punk rock album ever, and then he tells me to dress like the Queen while listening to it," she mused in frustration to herself, wandering over to her massive walk-in closet. "I mean, I'm freaking seventeen now. I'll be off to college in a few months." She wheeled, angrily seizing a peach blouse from a rack. "And that's another thing!" She hissed. "What if I don't _want_ to go to college? What if I want to ..." She lowered her voice. _"... Start a band ...?"_

* * *

William Turner loitered awkwardly in the massive foyer belonging to the Swann Mansion. He peered at his watch; surely Mr. Swann would have come to meet him by now. He'd sent the butler to fetch him about 20 minutes ago, and Mr. Swann was nothing ever if not punctual.

"Ah! Mr. Turner!"

Will turned, and saw Mr. Swann making his way swiftly down his huge staircase to come meet him.

"Mr. Swann," Will smiled cordially when his client had reached him. "I have your order. If you'll follow me."

Will led Mr. Swann outside, to where a glossy limousine was waiting. It was parked right outside the house, its black paint shining in the Jamaican sun, its silver bearings glittering expensively.

"Oh, just lovely!" Mr. Swann exclaimed. "Your boss is quite the talented man. Pass my compliments on to him!"

Wills' face fell a bit. He felt as though he should point out that while his boss, Mr. Brown, watched football on the television, Will had been toiling in the garage for days, working on Mr. Swanns' limousine by himself.

"Of course I will." He said instead. "He'll be glad to hear that."

The young man caught sight of movement on the top of the stairs: a girl, dressed in airy clothes, with long dark hair that twisted flawlessly down her shoulders. She smiled when she saw him staring.

"Will!" Elizabeth Swannn called, running down the stairs and embracing him.

"Now, Elizabeth—" Mr. Swann started, disgruntled at his daughters' affection.

"It's so good to see you!" she grinned. "I had this crazy dream about you last night."

Will was rather taken aback. "Really?"

Mr. Swann cleared his throat. "Elizabeth, this is hardly appropriate—"

"It was all about the day we met." Elizabeth continued, unabashed. "Do you remember?"

Will stifled a smile, recalling the memory. "I don't think I could ever forget."

"Thank you so much for delivering the vehicle, Mr. Turner, but we really must be off now." Mr. Swann shot a look at his daughter.

"It was great doing business with you," Will said quickly.

Mr. Swann and Elizabeth exited their house, Elizabeth flashing one last deviant smirk at Will before she disappeared.

Will exhaled. Holy smokes.

* * *

"I hope your manners shape up before we get to James's." Elizabeths' father snapped, once the two of them were being driven in a Swann Co. private car. "You almost gave Mr. Turner a heart attack back there, the way you flung yourself at him. It was really quite unbecoming of you."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, making sure her face was turned toward the window so her father couldn't see her.

"Dad, we're friends, and I know he doesn't mind it." she shrugged.

He ignored her. "Do you have the album?"

She had it in her bag. "Yeah."

They continued the journey in silence.

She felt silly for even bringing the album. It was her favourite band, her father disliked them, but he suddenly wanted her to play it at someone else's party? Were they just stuck on playlist ideas? She knew Black Pearl wasn't everyone's cup of tea, and she certainly bet that James didn't care for them. She texted Estrella to pass the time and hoped that the tension in the air would fade away.

"Destination," the chauffeur said from up front.

Elizabeth's father undid his seatbelt and stepped out. Elizabeth did the same, dreading the moment she'd have to join the chattering groups inside the large house in front of them, belonging to James Norrington.

Her father caught her just before they went in.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier." he closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's just, lately, I ... I don't understand what's come over you. I know you're getting older, and I know I'm busy a lot, which means I'm away, but - all of this lashing out. The clothes you wear, the music you listen to. The way you are with boys! It's not like you."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. She knew this talk had been on the horizon for ages, but she hadn't been expecting it to begin like this. "What are you talking about, Dad? I wear what I want, because I like it, and same goes for the music I listen to!" she fought to find the right words. "I'm not trying to get attention, or anything. I'm just trying to branch out, I guess. _And_ I'm trying to be more friendly. Like you said. Besides, if you hate my music so much, then why did you want me to bring it to James's party in the first place?"

At that, he sighed. "I know, sweetheart." he looked very tired. "I know. It doesn't matter what you wear or what you listen to. And as for the album, well, James was actually talking with me the other day. He wanted to know what kind of music you liked. He wanted to play it at the party."

"Did he really?" This caught Elizabeth off guard. Her father only smiled.

"Yes. He's taken quite a liking to you, you know." he smiled, but looked downwards, and the lines on his face seemed to be etched deeper into his ageing skin.

He looked so old and sad, and really, Elizabeth felt bad.

She knew why he was concerned— he didn't want her to go down a wrong path. It was completely understandable. He was a very overprotective parent, even if they didn't see much of each other. For her to be listening to the kind of music that was popular in Cortez Week, he had a right to worried. The bands that competed were commonly known as troublesome, and her father probably read enough media coverage to know that bands like to the Black Pearl weren't exactly the best influence. He only wanted the best for her.

And for her to mingle with someone like James— someone trustworthy, a figure that people looked up to— would only be a smart choice. He was doing his best.

Elizabeth rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I love you, Dad." she said.

He brightened a bit. "I love you, too, Sweetheart." he said, turning to face the door. "Do you want to go in?"

Elizabeth nodded, and together they went.

* * *

_A/N: What do you guys think? Please review and stuff, it means Cap'n Jack in the next chapter ... ! _


	2. Band Fans and Broken Vans

_Previously on Verse of the Black Pearl: Elizabeth Swann, daughter of hotel tycoon Weatherby Swann, is angering her old-fashioned dad because she's having a punk phase. She wants to start a band, and probably try her luck at competing in the infamous Cortez Week— a seven day contest that bring bands and musicians from all over the world together to preform their heart out to try and win the Aztec Cup. Elizabeth is also dreaming about William Turner, her buddy, who is a mechanic. He also sort of has the hots for her, but he is wayyy too shy to let that be known to anyone!_

* * *

Jack Sparrow adjusted the dirt-spattered rear-view mirror in his lemon of a car.

A ridiculously old van, the thing had all but broken down on the side of the road; leaving Jack sitting in the front seat and constantly checking for any approaching vehicles on the highway that may come to his aid. So far, none had come.

He'd rather sit inside his van listening to the radio than stand outside sticking his thumb up, waiting for someone to pull over. Besides, his favourite band was playing— the Interceptors. They were pretty new, in the softer, more acoustic indie scene. Jack found their latest single quite pleasing, with its gentle guitar and Mullroy Lauren's soothing ballads. He was glad the little band was finally getting some well-earned recognition.

_"But I don't understand,_

_I could never understand,_

_Why I ran,"_

Jack tapped his fingers on the dashboard in time to the chorus, not paying any attention to the sounds of the road.

There was a sudden knock on the window. Jack glanced around hopefully, only to see a grumpy-looking young policeman. Jack rolled down his window.

"Hello, officer," he greeted cheerfully.

"Good afternoon, sir." The officer said, with a tired sigh. Jack noticed that his uniform shirt said, _'Officer T. Groves: Port Royal Police Dept'_. "Are you in need of any assistance?"

Jack thought about it. The officer could potentially find out who he was, and recall his notorious history. That would probably earn Jack an instant arrest, and then his entire plan would go down the drain. On the other hand, he looked very different from before. He had grown his hair into long, dark dreads that were past his shoulders already, and his clothes weren't as outlandish as they used to be. Unless he asked for some ID, the officer wouldn't recognise Jack Sparrow ... Excepting the chance that he was a big rock fan.

"Yes, I am, in fact." said Jack. "I was wondering if you could be a great chum and give me a lift in to town. My van's stopped running."

"Yeah, I can do that." said Officer Groves. "We'll call a tow truck once we get to the station."

Jack beamed at the guy, and got out of his vehicle. He grabbed his cased guitar from the backseat, and his loaded duffle bag. He had no intention of ever seeing this car again.

"Thanks a ton, mate." he said, turning around.

The officer shrugged. "'S my job. Hop in." he motioned to a patrol car.

Jack got inside and sat on the passenger seat. It was probably the first time he had been sitting in a police car and not being in the back of it, handcuffed and drunk. It was a pleasant feeling.

Officer Groves hopped in beside him and started up the car. The radio turned on, and Jack noticed that they had been listening to the same station. The Interceptors' song was just finishing.

_"But I don't understand,_

_I could never understand,_

_Why I ran,_

_Away from this land ..."_

"Great song, eh?" said Jack. Groves raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"The Interceptors?" he asked, breaking into a smile. "Yeah! I love them. Do you?"

"Favourite band," said Jack.

"So then, I'm guessing you're here for Cortez Week? They'll be playing, you know."

Jack stared wistfully out the window at the passing landscape. Everything was tropical. Very different from the setting Jack had grown used to.

"Definitely." he said. "I haven't gone for many a year, however. So I'm ... _Excited_."

"It's supposed to be pretty insane this year." Groves said, hushed. "Now don't tell anyone, buddy, but guess who's opening the whole show?"

Jack already knew the answer.

"Who?" He curled his lip with distaste.

Groves eyes twinkled with excitement as he surveyed the oncoming traffic. "The Black Pearl! I have some pretty confidential info on the whole gig. I mean, of course I'm going to have my work cut out for me cleaning everything up. Riots happen almost every day and night, and it gets worse every year, seems like. But they haven't been so huge since Jack Sparrow was the lead singer, you know?" Groves noticed Jack's expression. "You a fan of them?"

Jack fidgeted. "Used to be, I suppose. They were never really the same after old Sparrow left. Not quite as resplendent."

"Right you are!" Groves cried. "You outta know, buddy— I am the biggest Jack Sparrow fan. It's a real pity that he left the band. He brought something real different to the world of music, you know? He's got to be the best musician I've ever heard."

Jack held back a sharp retort— such a big fan that you'd recognise him sitting next to you, right? He couldn't risk being discovered.

And if he was being honest, he was a little offended that Groves didn't recognise him. Did he really look so different from his Black Pearl days? It was silly, though. Luck was on his side today, allowing Jack to go about his business unnoticed by old fans.

"Hey, buddy— what'd you say your name was?" Groves asked, pulling up to the police station. Jack hadn't noticed that they'd even arrived in Port Royal at all.

"Er— Smith. Or, Smithy; if you like," said Jack, with a charming, hopefully casual smile. A fake name had saved his skin numerous times.

"Call me Tom." said Groves, shaking Jack's hand warmly. "Nice to meet you, Smithy. Come on inside, you can talk to our Sheriff. She'll help you out."

Jack didn't want to speak with any sort of law-enforcing person. That would only mean trouble. However, Groves was waiting for him by the door of the building. Jack got out of the car with his guitar and duffle bag, and entered the building.

Inside was relatively quiet for a police station. Then again, Jack's only memories of such places were, collectively, a bit blurry and inarticulate.

"Right this way, Smith," Groves ushered him into a room with the label Sheriff, in big font. Jack gulped nervously.

The woman behind the large mahogany desk looked up from her newspaper. Her long black hair was braided in thin strands down her back.

"What do we have 'ere?" she asked in a thick Jamaican accent, lowering her mug of coffee. Her heavily outlined eyes stared at Jack accusingly.

"No worries, Sheriff Dalma; we just need to phone Carl to pick up a car on the 103 for Smithy here." Groves said.

The sheriff didn't move. Jack stiffened. Could she recognise him? He'd definitely seen her before: many, many years ago. Though if she did know who he was, she didn't say it.

"Ah, yes, officer ..." The sheriff nodded. "You can use my phone. 'Ere." she tapped on an ancient-looking phone on her desk. Groves went to pick it up.

"We only have one good phone here," he explained as he dialled a number. "Hey, yeah. Carl? It's Tom, from the station. We have a van broken down on the 103. The driver's here. Can you pick it up? Yeah. Yes, okay. Thanks, man!" he hung up.

"So, Mr. Smith," Sheriff Dalma began, adding some cream to her coffee. "Pray, tell me ... What is your purpose in Port Royal?"

"He's here for Cortez Week." Groves piped up. "Huge Interceptors fan; like me."

"I did not ask you, officer." the sheriff said. "Mr. Smith?"

"I _am_ here for Cortez Week, ma'am," Jack said.

"Told you." Groves muttered. "I was telling the truth."

Sheriff Dalma did not have any softing of expression. "I am expecting you will not be the cause of any rioting, or a participant of one?"

"Certainly not," Jack said. He really needed to get out of there.

Sheriff Dalma look back to her newspaper, seemingly satisfied, and Groves patted Jack on the shoulder to lead him out of the office.

"So Carl from Carl 'N' Eddie's Towing will be here in a mo'," Groves said, walking into the waiting room. "For now, though, you can just chill here. There's also water over there, by the printer. And ... Yeah. I'll um, be in my office. The one with 'Groves' on the door." he shuffled out awkwardly.

Jack took in the room. It was completely empty, except for him.

He was about to sit down, but Groves came running back.

"Also, Smith, if I don't see you again— like, today, I mean— or whatever— here's my number." the officer handed Jack a small, folded slip of paper. Jack took it and stared at it.

"So we can, you know, text each other." Groves continued. "About The Inteceptors. And the Black Pearl, if you want."

Jack smiled at him, tucking the paper into a pocket.

"Thanks, Tom. I'll text you later." he said. "Thanks for everything, man. See you."

Groves nodded, grinning, and walked back out.

Jack chuckled to himself, then started humming the tune of a very old Black Pearl song, that he wrote, as he discreetly got up, and left the police station.

* * *

Elizabeth Swann was very bored.

It had been quite a while since she and her father had entered James Norrington's house, and she still hadn't seen the host of the party. Not that she particularly wanted to, but he was probably the youngest person here.

A young man, perhaps even younger than James, approached Elizabeth. He wore a crisp white dress shirt and appeared to be slightly intoxicated.

"Elizabeth, isn't it?" He slurred. "Elizabeth Swann? _Goodness_ knows, I've heard about you!"

Elizabeth smiled politely, wishing he'd go away. Unfortunately, he only continued to speak, and sat down closely beside her.

"So Jamesy then, eh?" He winked. "Ol' Jamesy ... What a party, what a party, for the old man! Have you tried the champagne? Or the beluga caviar? Top notch eating. But these old bastards, they throw a party for any old thing, really."

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes ..." she found herself wishing James were here now. Anything but this sloppy boy.

"Weird choice of music, though, huh?" the boy continued. "Really sort of annoying."

Elizabeth glared at him crossly, but he seemed to be occupied by the sight of a blonde woman across the room. Elizabeth clicked her tongue and was about to leave ("Where you off to, love?")— maybe ask her father if they could return home, but she was stopped by a tall figure whom she almost walked into.

"Elizabeth?" came a deep, comforting voice.

Elizabeth glanced up. "James!"

James Norrington smiled down at her. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a black dress shirt that made his green eyes stand out magnificently.

"James, I'm so glad to see you!" Elizabeth found herself saying. James led her away from the drunken man, and toward the impressive, modern dining room.

"Have you had anything to eat yet?" he asked. "Everyone brought in very lovely food. Wonderful album you have playing, by the way."

Elizabeth gazed at the table, which was decorated with platters of spiced salmon, diced potatoes, bean dips and hummus, sparkling punch, and what Elizabeth guessed was the beluga caviar.

"No, I guess I haven't had much to eat today." Elizabeth murmured. Her stomach growled.

"I'd recommend the salmon. I'd also suggest a glass of wine, but if I recall correctly, I don't think you're quite of age yet," James winked.

Elizabeth giggled, then remembered her manners.

"So, James ..." she began. "My father tells me that you've upped a level, so to speak."

James chuckled. "Yes. Now everyone has to refer to me as _Commissioner_ Norrington."

"So I reckon you're going to have your work cut out for you during Cortez Week," Elizabeth ventured. James nodded remorsefully.

"Most likely. The sheriff tells me that with all the bands coming, this will be the most insane, and probably the most dangerous year, ever."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up. She tried to keep her voice nonchalant. "You think so? How many bands are coming, do you think?"

James exhaled loudly. "Well over four hundred." Elizabeth nearly jumped for joy.

"Wow! That's ... Plenty!" she whispered. James mistook her quiet tone as nervousness.

"Don't worry," he said quickly. "I intend to see to it that anyone who starts trouble gets what they deserve."

"Oh, absolutely," Elizabeth nodded airily, worrying over how little time she had to start her band. Cortez Week was now less than five days away. If she wanted a chance at gaining some recognition in the competition, she had to gather up some like-minded people very fast.

"Elizabeth?" James said.

"Yes?" Elizabeth came out of her reverie.

"I don't think you heard me," James smiled. "I said, do you think you'll be going on any day to the Cortez concerts?"

"I think I'll be going every day." Elizabeth answered confidently. "I'm very sorry, James, but I have to go. This was a wonderful party. Congratulations on the promo. You look very good tonight."

She strode quickly away, leaving a rather perplexed James Norrington to himself.

Elizabeth pushed impatiently through the groups of people chatting mindlessly. "Father? Oh, Lord, where _is_ he ..."

She finally found him, speaking to the owner of a high end restaurant.

"Father," she began, but Weatherby Swann shot her a look.

"Elizabeth, I am in the middle of a conversation." he snapped.

"Really, it's fine," the restaurant owner said.

"I'm out. I'll be at home." Elizabeth continued.

Her father sighed and rubbed his face. "Alright, dear. I'll bring your music home when I leave."

Elizabeth smiled and almost pranced off, excitement tingling in her veins. She was going to start a band for sure, and compete in Cortez Week!

* * *

_A/N: woohoo! Thanks for reviewing... ;-)More chapters to come, I promise! Also more Will+Elizabeth, as well._


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